


A Thorn In Your Side

by Demmora



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Dark Magic, F/F, Power Play, Teasing, not sure what else to tag this as...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 14:21:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6288064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demmora/pseuds/Demmora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a short unfinished ficlet I had in mind for Billie and Delilah a long time ago, came across it in drafts and thought I might as well put it up. Just some good old fashion gal pals being pals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thorn In Your Side

She knew the other woman was a witch from the moment she spied her, had followed that tangled web of power for several streets, just to find out what it was that sang sweeter than any bone charm. She’d expected another man like Daud, with black marks on his skin, or a ragged old thing with burned out eyes and whale song in their head. Delilah was neither. She carried herself like a Queen, and indeed no queen had ever looked finer. Not even the dead Empress had worn such fine jewels in the way Delilah wore flowers.

She even smells like roses, not the wilted kind kept tame behind iron spikes in rich men’s gardens, but the wild, jagged blooms that flourish and thrive along the country roads beyond the walls of Dunwall. Roses, lilacs, violets, and the white flowers she doesn’t know the name of but knows you can use them to make poison with—she’s seen Daud do it more than once. Delilah is a walking perfumed garden of hedonistic delights, and her smile blooms like spring in Billie’s chest.

And she’s kissing a trail of fire up Billie’s spine, sharp fingernails ghosting over naked flesh.

“Your mind is elsewhere,” Delilah chides, teeth grazing over the back of Billie’s neck, “What are you thinking about?”

Billie closes her eyes against the swell of pleasure and tries to focus. It’s so hard to focus when Delilah is near, even before they take their clothes off. She can feel the other woman’s magic snaring around her, like vines rushing to reclaim a fallen ruin, it tangles with her own small powers, dark and leaden by comparison.

“My mark hurts,” she replies, only half lying. The mark on her hand has always burned, but it’s only recently that she’s come to resent it.

“Is he calling you?” Delilah asked, running a soothing hand over Billie’s left arm, locking her fingers underneath Billie’s and raising her hand so they both can look at the ugly thing. It’s little more than a bruise, a  dark smudge under her skin. But as Delilah twists and turns their locked hands together, the faint green glow of power can be seen.

“No.” Billie lies again, knowing that someone else will eventually answer Daud’s call for assistance...and if they don’t, well, it may be no small loss after all.

“I think he is,“ Delilah purrs behind her ear, lips ghosting over the shell of Billie’s ear and making her shudder. “Should we stop so you can go to him?”

“No!”

Delilah laughs throatily, rewarding her with another sharp kiss to the back of her neck, long legs twining around Billie’s and pulling her apart until she’s open and it’s almost more than Billie can bare when Delilah tips her head back and forces her to meet her eye in the giant mirror Delilah has set up—to reflect the light she says.

“You should let me paint you like this,” Delilah breathes by her ear, slender fingers drifting ever lower, lower, lower but never low enough. “You’re beautiful when you’re mine. You are mine aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Billie breathes, arching up into that torturous touch, the ache in her hand forgotten and replaced by a much more urgent one twisting through her belly. She’d say anything if it got her release. “Yes, I’m yours.”

“Are you sure?” Delilah croons sweetly, one finger dipping lower and making Billie arch further with a little gasp.

“Yes, yes I am,” it comes out in a thin pathetic plead, and Billie momentarily hates herself for it, but it’s all tangled up, the resentment and the lust, and the power she can feel thrumming through her veins in a way she’s never known before. She briefly wonders if all the other women in the coven feel the same to touch, or if it’s only Delilah’s bones that sing.

Her mark flares again, unheeded.

“Prove it.”


End file.
